


To The Cresendo

by rdmlily



Series: Catboy Light Party [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Male Miqo'te (Final Fantasy XIV), Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:21:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24965878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rdmlily/pseuds/rdmlily
Summary: Memories ill erased never remain lost forever.
Series: Catboy Light Party [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1845346
Kudos: 3





	To The Cresendo

**Author's Note:**

> I have a weird writing style I guess but! The beginning of my son's journey...

The first time he heard it, it was behind roaring fires.

H..r, ...l, t..nk...

Nothing comprehensible beyond the screams of anguish, crumbling homes, blistering sun and clashing steel. A cool wind washed him over, though his blood run white hot, his mind drawn blank against the assault. Vision flitting between a cascade of shimmering blue, and the darkening black soot dotting out the world.

Hear.... Feel..... Think......

He could not. He could not. Short breaths ragged against the ground as he'd fallen again stumbling through terror. The monster walked further. The sun blocked out again. Another voice clearer, familiar, begged him to flee. He could not. Vision marred more and made calm by twinkling stars, whisps of wind... Nay, aether, he knew that much. Hugged, comforted, soothed.

The sun was marred by blood.

The sky cried red, his voice lost on the lulling sea. He couldn't hear. He couldn't feel. He couldn't think. Black tendrils fell chilled on bare skin, reaching forward to the storm of fire and gore. Blue struggled it away. Empty shell clambering overtop a bloody husk. Tears dripped onto midnight skin. Blood marred his hands, his eyes near quaked, drifting up to face a beast. Ferocious and hungry.

Hear. Feel. Think.

No. No! He didn't want to anymore!

Hear.

Silence!

Feel.

Release me!

Think.

Leave me to my darkening shell!

The sun was marred by white. The sky bright again, an ally? He was being spirited away before he could register the need to run. Flee. Escape. We have to leave.

Why?

The monster has done its duty, it has slain me whole.

Why must I run?

Flee..?

Hear...

Feel...

Think...

Put unto me, your hale and your whole, your sundered and your lost. Take to me. Be one, with me.

Serve me to save those that you may yet wretch from dark.

What if.. we are the dark..?

\---

The second time he heard it, he was wretched from a dream. He awoke to subtle chirps and cries of the life outside his infirmary window. The glistening dew gave the crisp green leaves of what was undoubtedly the Shroud's canopy a look as though they were covered in stars. Twinkling and kissing the sun with fervor. Upon his rise a pulse caused him to pause, his head screaming in protest. The voice was far away, almost desperate to reach him. It's mantra hallow and incomplete. Despite the warmth of the sun, he felt cold.

Then the stars on the leaves began to warp, twist, scatter. Ah, he wasn't awake at all, was he? Black holes, portals of aether, purple and maroon, languid and writhing. A nightmare? He felt no fear in them, the cold encompassing him as the voice dwindled. Faltered.

Silenced...

A twinkling of lavender, bright and beckoning, tempted his vision. There was no form, nothing here seemed to have it. Save the wisps of black aether tickling at the edges of his mind. Nothing of the gentle blue from the last time. Just inky, all-encompassing darkness.

Silence.

No voice to call out to him.

Just an ever growing cascade of dark light. A glow so soothing and soft. Something in him longed, ached. Why? The aether gave him a semblance of peace.

There was a strange warmth, and as quickly as the scene came, it was wretched away. The lavender flashed violet before he was drawn from his rest. Though certain it was real this time, he rose once more in his bed, a healer by his side, alongside a man in red. They were saying things, things probably of import. Of things that had come to pass.

Yet he could not hear them. The thrumming of aether noise lingered in his ears, rushing like a waterfall, crashing to his core. His body reacted to the words. Was he speaking? Could he understand? The man in red gave him a gentle smile, bid farewell, strode away. The healer remained, dabbing a small puff of cotton against a tearing wound in his skin.

He felt nothing.

No gentle touch.

No morose anguish.

No reprieve.

He wondered if he ever would again.

\---

The third time he heard it, it had been years. He had all but forgotten the ill-fated bygone days, until it spoke to him once more. Calling to him, imploring him. Spurring him to action. The dredges of his horrid memories glanced by and shattered like twinkling lights. Purging them, so that his Light may shine. He wanted to weep, to mourn, things long lost that he'd never yet found. Forgotten. Erased.

A drop of Light brought him out of his sorrow. Pulsating, glistening, a star in the void he now stood in.

An eruption of black, violent and angry.

Swirling.

Consuming.

Voracious and starved.

This was not the calm he pressingly recalled once feeling. Fear, a form took from the shadowy gate.

Crimson...

Crimson, covering a human face.

A biting memory. Gnawing, gnashing, tearing at his solace.

Crimson on midnight.

The form before him was enshrouded by a cloak of midnight. Was this something, someone, a faint dredge he'd long lost? No, there was no crimson sky. Not in this void. Only a twinkling orb of light, reappeared from its previous imprisonment.

The Light consumed him. Encased him. His form the same, his visage quite different. The form, a man? Was adorned with a mark of light, more crimson. A mask overtop his mask, though this seemed more a view of the individual himself than simple another guise. How suspect it seemed.

The Light urged his body forth.

He simply watched it lurch from himself, stuttering. Screaming.

He felt his soul become so incomplete. So suddenly.

The void felt still as he watched, as the fiend stuttered, he looked back at himself.

He saw.. himself...

Terror wretched his core. Ill. Violently ill. A dance of horror in his own eyes. A grimace of anger marred the lips of the stranger. The twinkling Light dimmed.

He was rocked from his visit inward by a jostling of wood and wheel. He awoke to a gentle smile, a kindly traveler. Aether sickness?

Nay...

Just another cry into the abyss of his recollection. Still he affirmed.

Aye, a sickness.

Afflicted.

Forever and more, ill and torn.


End file.
